


Relic

by maccready



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5611012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccready/pseuds/maccready
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her name was Quinn.</p>
<p> The sole survivor of Vault 111, the woman out of time, the wanderer, the vault dweller, whatever you wanted to call her; she was just Quinn. </p>
<p> A woman who lost everything, searching the Commonwealth for answers. Answers to a puzzle she had no chance of solving; until she finds the Brotherhood. </p>
<p> While wandering Boston, she stumbles upon a Brotherhood of Steel team in an old police station, who then ask her for her help on a mission. She agrees, only to then be offered a place within their ranks. </p>
<p> A fresh start in a new world.</p>
<p> The story follows her journey through the Commonwealth, and her growing relationship with the leader of the Brotherhood, Elder Arthur Maxson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brotherhood

"Brotherhood of Steel? The fuck's that?"

 The words hit him like a suit of power armor at high speed; what in the-

"Excuse me?" The Paladin was at a loss for words, but quickly remembered that this was all new for the civilians here; to them, the Brotherhood probably looked like a group of over-glorified mercenaries with a floating ship. Still though, he was surprised. 

"Your group. Who are they? What is it you stand for? You're not giving me a lot to go on here." The woman was obviously a cut above the rest, who saw the caps and agreed to the terms regardless. A bit taken aback once again, Paladin Danse spoke: "The Brotherhood's mission is, as of late, to protect the people of the Commonwealth from itself, essentially. Our goal is to serve and protect civilians, such as yourself."

 Her oddly groomed eyebrows furrowed in annoyance and she let out a small scoff. "Do I look like a fucking civilian to you, bud?" This time his features gave away his surprise, much to his disdain, as she continued to amuse him but hardly in a good way. She was the only person who would dare be insubordinate with him, even for a civilian. "I would ask that you not use that language with me, and that you be more mindful of your tone." Although threatening, he wasn't calling her a civilian any longer, and that was good enough for her. A small smirk tugged at her lips and she spoke slowly, almost in a pleased tone. "Alright then, Paladin. What is it you need from me?" 

"An extra gun, nothing else. As I said, you'll be paid for your assistance. We'll be going into some prewar ruins; a testing site not far from here, ArcJet Systems. I'll explain on the way. For now, follow me out onto the road and keep an eye out for any ferals." The soldier stepped out of the police station and, in a swift motion, placed the power armor helmet atop his inkwell colored hair. "Aye aye, captain." She muttered, slightly annoyed at the orders he had given. Looking straight ahead, he said bleakly: "It's Paladin, not Captain."  
   
 She could practically hear the frown on his face under that T-60 helmet, and barely felt compelled to point out her intentions to him, but did so anyway. "It was a joke, pal. I don't actually think you're a captain." 

 Danse got the joke, but hardly found it funny; very little made him laugh these days, and with the mission being so important, he hardly found room for humor. He decided not to respond and continued to hike out of the city and onto the road ahead.

As they walked she watched him like a hawk, monitoring the way he moved in that big electrified tin can; she was never one for bulky things or head on attacks and, much to her disdain, this mission would more than likely be full of both. As they got up to the road and her boots hit the ancient blacktop, she spoke up about their mission. "So, you gonna tell me what this is about yet?" 

 As much as he hated to, he would have to eventually. He had no idea whether he could trust this woman, let alone if he actually needed her for this mission. Maybe he could do it alone, or maybe Haylen could accompany him. Either way, it was too late now. 

"There's a device deep within ArcJet that we need to find. A deep range transmitter, to be exact. We need to find it so we can repair the Brotherhood's communications array."

"Right. You do realize ArcJet was a high-tech organization, right? Meaning there will be, no doubt, lots of turrets and terminals in there that you will no doubt have no idea how to break? Unless you plan on kicking the shit out of everything with that suit until it gives, then by all means, go ahead." 

 Truth be told, he actually hadn't considered that at all, and as much as he hated to admit it, she was no doubt right. The building hadn't been touched since prewar times, and that means that it would be full of dusty old terminals with locks on them that he didn't even begin to know how to break. Still though, he continued his walk confidently, and hoped for the best. "Is this your way of telling me you know how to get past those?" 

 Another damn smirk was his answer, and it screamed pride and selfishness that made him dislike this woman even more. She had the typical mercenary attitude, and sure as hell didn't lack the appearance, either. But she was useful, and knew what she was doing in combat. That was good enough for Danse. 

 Along the way he didn't say much, save for a few explanations as to what exactly the Brotherhood was doing in the Commonwealth. He explained that his team was sent there for an important mission, and that they were looking for some old prewar tech to use in their crusade. Truth be told, she didn't really want to hear it from Danse because she felt as though he was only giving her a half truth; a glorified perspective of a man who had way too much devoted into this cause. She was never interested in anything but the truth, and the full truth at that. 

"So... this is it, huh?"  
   
 Danse muttered a quiet affirmation to her as he jerked open the door, rust and dirt coming loose after 200 years of neglect. They stumbled through the wreckage of the front lobby together before he gave his instructions. "Stay close, and watch out for any hostiles. There shouldn't be any, but it never hurts to be prepared." 

"Affirmative." The short response took him by surprise. No smart remarks? No protests? That was something he could admire about her, at least; she knew when it was important to get serious and stay focused. "It's strange seeing this place so destroyed. I remember-" She stopped herself abruptly and with a small gasp, and it grabbed his attention immediately. 

 He stopped in the hallway and turned back to look at her, the spotlight on his helmet dilating her large pupils. "What was that?" Even with the helmet on she could feel his eyes staring into hers, and it made her stomach drop. Still though, she knew how to handle things like this, and kept her usual proud posture. 

"Nothing, Paladin. Let's carry on." Normally he wouldn't have thought anything of it, and carried on like normal. However, her body language gave her away and he knew immediately she was hiding something; she remembered this place? Did that mean she'd run with raiders before, and that this was their base? No, it was too untouched. Had she already taken the device they were looking for? 

 That would explain her sudden quiet and serious behavior. However, what proof did he have? That she suddenly became cooperative the moment they set foot in ArcJet? It wasn't solid enough to build any assumptions off of, that's for sure.

 She remembered ArcJet because she worked there before the war. Before Shaun was born, actually. As a receptionist, she knew most of the people who had worked there, people she was friends with. People whose skeletons they were walking past. The fate she was given was bittersweet, but some days were harder than others. Birthdays, anniversaries, and date nights in particular were the ones that hit her hardest. But she was alive, and he wasn't, and that killed her. But she wouldn't wish this world on anyone, especially Nate. 

"Damn. Do you see this?" He had stopped in a crossroad, and was now staring down on a couple of protectrons that had been shut down, but still intact. "No bullet holes, and no blood anywhere. This is the work of an Institute synth."

 Her heart dropped down into her stomach and her blood ran cold. 

 The Institute.  

 Her grip on the assault rifle tightened as she relived that same moment over and over again, repeating in her head like an old movie; her husband screaming, fighting, trying to protect their only child that ended ultimately in his death, and the murderers walking out of the vault with her son in their arms. 

"No! I'm not giving you Shaun!" 

 Bang. 

 And in that moment, she became the sole survivor of Vault 111.

"Yeah," She muttered. 

"Let's just keep moving, okay?"


	2. Memories

"Soldier. Over here." She looked up from the desk she was digging through, now realizing she was holding him up. She apologized under her breath.

"You need to stay focused on our mission. You never know when someone- or something- could ambush us. We can't afford to let our guard down by rummaging through junk." 

 She met him in the doorway he had been watching her from, and the two of them kept moving in silence. She hadn't meant to linger over the desk long, but she was sure by now his suspicion of her had increased drastically. She didn't mind though, because it was worth it. She held her prize up to the light of her Pipboy, and smiled sadly. 

 It was a Polaroid. Black and white, ancient and tarnished, but no less valuable. It was of her family. Nate, a tall, bearded man with an angled jawline, soft eyes, and a loving smile, held their infant son. Shaun was only a few months old in the photo, and was wrapped in a newly knitted blue blanket his grandmother made for him. Codsworth, floating and shiny as ever, was to the right of Nate. Then there was her. 

 Laughing and obviously struggling, she had her arms wrapped around Codsworth in a failed attempt at a hug. She was tall and thin with dark brown, almost black hair that was pulled into a ponytail, and beaming green eyes. She had an oval face with high cheekbones, a slightly pointed chin, and defined, arched eyebrows several shades lighter than her dyed hair. Her lips were painted a bright red and her eyeliner was winged, a stark contrast to her now bare and untouched face. That was her life and her family, and God, she loved them. She loved them so much. 

"Everything alright back there?" She was pulled out of her nostalgia and responded with a raspy voice. "Yeah, Paladin. Everything's fine."

 Something wasn't right here, but he still couldn't figure out what it was. Why was she so touched by an old prewar ruin? As curious as Danse was, he couldn't bring himself to believe that this woman was a raider or a scavver. It just didn't fit, she was too... well, she was too clean, for starters. Her hair was brushed, her nails perfect, and she smelled of musty prewar perfume and cool rain. She took far better care of herself than anyone he had met before, but he couldn't pinpoint why. 

 Why was she so quiet? Why was she so clean? Why was she so attached to this place, and why did she look like something straight out of a prewar magazine? Was she-

 No, he thought. There was no way this woman was a ghoul. She looked too human for that to be accurate. In fact, she looked as though she'd never been around radiation her whole life. It was a peculiar thing, and he wanted answers.

 As they passed through yet another office and onto the elevator that led to the device below, he finally broke; he had to ask.

"Where are you from?" The words slipped out before he could stop himself and for a moment, it was so quiet between them that all you could hear was the elevator moving downward and clicking every time it passed a floor. 

"Vault 111."

 A vault dweller? He sat for a moment as a wave of relief washed over him. She was just a vault dweller. That explained almost everything, except for her connection to this place. Whatever it was, he didn't care. At least she wasn't a raider. 

 Another thought crossed his mind, this time  concerning her future, not her past; was she Brotherhood material?

"You're a vault dweller?" The doors to the elevator opened and they stepped out, scanning the area for any synths. "Yeah. Me, my husband, and my son." She had a family? A husband? Where was he?

"Are they both still in the vault?" The question hit a soft spot. She climbed down the steps, avoiding looking back at the soldier. "I'd rather not go into detail, if you don't mind." 

 He scolded himself for asking. The woman didn't know him and he didn't know her, yet he let his curiosity get the best of him. "I apologize for overstepping my bounds. I was merely curious." This time she looked back at him and smiled, a genuine, kind smile that told him it was alright, and no harm was done. She was definitely something else. 

 Before he could fumble out more apologies, synths began teleporting in around them, leaving them trapped below the engine core. In mere seconds she had a plan, and she sprinted past the synths and into the hallway leading to the control room, urging him to follow. "Shit, Danse, come on!" 

"No. Get in there and set off the engine, it'll kill off the synths. I'll take cover in the elevator!" She looked at him with a questioning, angry expression. "What the fuck? That blast will kill you, get the hell in here!"

 He wasn't going to listen to her, but he considered his options briefly and realized what the better choice was here. Shoving synths out of the way, he ran as fast as his power armor would let him towards that door. As soon as he made it inside she hit the red button hastily, and the doors closed behind them with a loud slam. She turned to him with that smartass look again, and he knew damn well he would be dead if not for her urging. Before she could make any comments he started towards the control room, prompting her to follow.

"You're welcome." She said finally. He grunted in response; she disobeyed him. He told her when they first arrived that she needed to listen to him, to do as he said, but she didn't. Could she really be Brotherhood material if she disobeyed orders?

 But she was right, and she knew it. They both did. She disobeyed to do what was best for the two of them, so did that make her less likely to be a good soldier? Or more?

 The control room was, like the rest of the building, untouched. There were holotapes lying everywhere, which she took when Danse wasn't looking, and a terminal that belonged to one of the engineers there. As the synths banged on the walls and the window of the control room she hacked the device and turned on the generators, thus giving power to the elevator. Then, she turned to Danse. "Are you ready to see some cool shit?" He frowned. 

"Cool? Or dangerous?"

"Maybe a little of both, but we'll be fine. Don't worry about it." She slid into the office chair and looked up at her more cautionary counterpart, fingers looming over the test button. He closed his eyes and prepared for the worst. 

"Test sequence in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1..."

 The synths were defeated in seconds. She looked back at Danse with a grin on her face and he could hardly believe their luck. But where was the transmitter?

 She knew what he was thinking from the look on his face and reassured him. "It's still here. It has to be." 

"We can only hope."


	3. Different

He was finishing up his speech when they arrived. 

 The Paladin and the Initiate both stood at the back of the command deck watching the Elder, but each with very different expressions. Danse wore a look of pride, a small smile even playing at the corner of his mouth. Quinn stood with heavy eyelids and crossed arms. 

"Ad Victoriam!"

 When the pep talk was over, the two of them approached the Elder. Danse saluted him, Quinn raised her eyebrows quizzically. 

 This man was younger than her. Several years younger, by the looks of it. If he was the leader of the Brotherhood, how much military experience could he possibly have?

"I care about them, you know. The people of the Commonwealth."

 She snorted, causing both of the men to stare at her; Danse was screaming internally. 

"Alright. As the Paladin said, I'm Quinn. Good to meet you." 

 Much like Danse, he was surprised at her tone. As Elder, he usually got the utmost respect and maybe even fear out of others. Although irritated, he tried his best to ignore it. 

~

 It was her first night on the Prydwen, and it was unlike anything she had experienced before. With Nate, she had of course stayed at various forts and bases throughout his career, but at that time she was just the wife that tagged along. Others would smile, tell her what a lovely family she had, and that was it. On the Prydwen, these people cared for her. Even on her first night, they were her brothers and sisters and she loved the atmosphere on that airship. They were family, even if it was a rather large one. 

 Her and the Paladin sat together in the mess hall, her elbows propped up on the cold metal counter. She had been eyeing her beer for a while now, too afraid to actually try the 200 year aged alcohol. Danse picked up on it but continued to loom over his noodle bowl.

 Her thoughts wandered to another time, another world. Sometimes, when the nights were long and the drinks were heavy, her and Nate would climb those trees in their backyard together. They would have races, and when they got to the top they would just sit there and stare at the stars. He taught her all about constellations and planets, and she taught him about crazy alien conspiracies. She wished he could see the sky now, and how clear it was without the pollution. 

"What, never seen a beer before?"  
 She jumped and realized she actually had tears in her eyes, but blinked heavily before they could escape. The mess hall officer smiled at her, and she smiled back. 

"Maybe once or twice. It wasn't 200 years old, though." 

"Oh, you're that vault dweller right? What, you guys got your own personal brewer down there?" He smiled at her and walked away, handing a new beer to his friend. She sniffed and wiped her eyes when she thought no one was looking.

"Danse?" she questioned. He looked over at her. 

"Yes, Knight?" 

 She hesitated. This really wasn't like her. "I just wanted to let you know that I really am glad to be here. I know I didn't act like it at first, but I appreciate you sponsoring my entry."

 He hadn't expected such a change in heart. Still though, he appreciated her words and they took a weight off his shoulders; he was waiting for her inevitable slip up, to disobey the wrong person or to, God forbid, upset the Elder himself.

"You're quite welcome, Knight. I think we have the potential to become quite the team... if you learn to cooperate."

 She grinned at him. "Cooperation hasn't always been my strong suit. Still though, I'd be more than happy to try. I'd like to think I'm Brotherhood material, but... I'm not so sure that I am."

"Soldier, there's not a doubt in my mind that you have what it takes. I wouldn't have brought you in if I had questioned your abilities." 

He looked over at her, shoving his noodles away. "I never did ask what you thought of Elder Maxson." 

 Truth be told, she wasn't one who cared for leaders. Maxson, however, seemed to be the exception. He was dedicated, passionate. Different. 

"Different than anything I've seen before." She stated. 

On the other side of the Prydwen, reading her file, Elder Arthur Maxson was thinking the same thing.


	4. Revelations

Thanks to some of the Brotherhood's best scribes, pages and pages of information were added to Quinn's file over the next few weeks. On that first night, the info he read was so vague and so incomplete, he decided he needed more answers. He sent out Quinlan's best men and women, questioning shopkeepers and friends alike about Vault 111. Finally, after weeks of waiting, his results were delivered directly to his quarters.

 The tan file folder sat waiting on his desk. Next to it, a terminal full of messages and reports waited, but he brushed them off for another time. He closed the door, sat at the table, and finally began reading the results. 

 A note from Proctor Quinlan was waiting on the first page. Maxson read it hastily;

~

Elder,  
    
 Enclosed you will find everything we could muster about Knight Malcolm and this 'Vault 111', as per request. Truthfully, the results were... startling, but not necessarily in a bad way. If there's anything else you require, please let me know.

Signed,

Proctor Quinlan

~

 With concern bubbling in his chest he turned the page quickly, ripping it in the process. He swore quietly under his breath, but nearly froze when he spotted the word 'cryogenic'.

 Another damn note. This time, though, from one of the senior scribes;

~

 Elder Maxson,

 We looked into the vault. We asked around first and didn't have any luck, so we went into downtown Boston and found Vault-Tec's regional offices. On one of their terminals we found a small, although vital, piece of information; Vault 111 was, in fact, a cryo facility. A cryogenic storage vault, of sorts. We send two scribes and a knight out to the vault once we discovered it's coordinates and found about 20 frozen bodies of prewar citizens. One of these was the body of Knight Malcolm's husband, Nathaniel Malcolm. 

 It seems that the vault was not only for testing cryosleep, but to test it on unaware subjects. These people were frozen on the exact day and time the bombs fell on October 23rd, 2077, which means that Knight Malcolm was alive before the war. 

 The strangest part of all this, however, was that Nathaniel Malcolm was frozen with a small child. An infant, less than a year old, by the name of Shaun Malcolm; Quinn's son. When we got there, there was no child in that pod with him, and he had a gunshot wound in his chest. From what we can gather from all this, it seems that these people were unfrozen just so someone could take their infant son. When the father resisted, he was killed. It's the only explanation.   
   
I'm not sure how you'll want to confront her about this, but when you do, it may be best to approach it gently. Just a thought, sir. 

~

 He leaned back in his chair, staring at the metal ceiling of his private quarters with a bleak, overwhelmed expression. 

 Jesus Christ. 

 He literally could not believe what he was reading. He was in such disbelief, such doubt that he was in fact reading a Brotherhood of Steel report and not a Grognak the Barbarian comic. This was unlike anything he had ever seen before. 

 At first he was angry. Not with her, but with Vault-Tec; another prime example of man overstepping his bounds. But then, he felt sadness. Sadness for this woman he barely knew. 

 She had everything taken from her. Her home, her family, her whole goddamn world ripped from under her in an instant. It was awful, and everything the Brotherhood stood against.

 Maybe he could speak with her in the morning. Maybe he could ask her about it, inquire why exactly she joined the Brotherhood. He already knew though. Technology tore her family apart, and 'exploring new horizons' costed her her old life. The Brotherhood of Steel was a perfect fit. 

 How exactly could he ask though? It's not like they knew one another on a personal level. He was her Elder, her leader. What could he say? That he went against protocol and sent out a whole team of scribes to dig up her past, her old life? He couldn't. Maybe eventually the time would be right, but it definitely wasn't now. 

That night, Elder Arthur Maxson sat awake on the foredeck whIle the Prydwen slept.


End file.
